Page 4 of Sinistram
“How many died?” Brent leaned back and finished his cookie.
“Two hundred and thirty-nine,” Travis said. “The explosion got blamed on miners carrying open lanterns in an unsafe area, but the bosses never took responsibility for that kind of thing,” he added with a bitter note. “Although they did stop using that kind of lamp afterward.”
“Bully for them,” Brent replied.
“Some of the bodies were never recovered. The ones that were brought out were so badly burned they could only be identified by the clothing,” Travis went on. “They weren’t buried at the mine, but there’s a memorial marker. The mine never reopened.”
“I’m guessing that families took their dead for local funerals if they could identify them, and the others were buried in a common grave,” Brent said. “Probably done quietly, but there’s got to be paperwork somewhere. Maybe they were buried on the mine property itself, since it no longer functioned?”
When Travis didn’t respond right away, Brent looked at him with concern. “Are you okay? You seem a little spooked.”
Travis shrugged. Brent knew about his visions, but admitting one always left Travis feeling vulnerable. “I caught a glimpse of something, and I don’t know what I saw.”
“Something…like a vision? Think it’s connected to the mine we’re going to?” Brent asked.
“Don’t know. It didn’t match any of the photos or drone footage of the site that I’ve seen,” Travis replied. Unknowns were dangerous, and he didn’t like loose ends.
Brent listened quietly while Travis described his vision. “Too bad your woo-woo doesn’t come with a time stamp,” Brent said. “At least you didn’t see either of us getting Kentucky-fried.”
“Just keep it in mind,” Travis told him. “It’s bound to show up somewhere.”
“Will do.”
“I don’t begrudge the miners their revenge, but why now? Like tonight, the people who did them wrong are long gone. What’s given them the mojo to start attacking people who just happen by at the wrong time? It’s been over a hundred years. Seems odd for them to just wake up and raise hell,” Brent pointed out.
“Guess it’s our job to find out.” Travis gave Brent an assessing once-over. “You okay from the fire? Need to have Matthew check you out?”
Brent shook his head. “No burns. I checked when I showered. Didn’t get hit with anything. All in all, I’m in good shape, compared to how it usually goes.”
“Me, too,” Travis agreed. “I’ll head back to St. Dismas and get some work done, make some calls. Then we can meet up in the morning and go over to the mine. Sound good?”
“Deal.”
Travis wasn’t surprisedthat Matthew was still up when he got back to St. Dismas. He and Jon were sitting in the lobby, savoring cups of hot chocolate, trying not to look like parents waiting for an errant teen to come home after curfew.
“Am I grounded?” Travis joked, although he appreciated having people watching out for him.
“That depends,” Jon said with mock seriousness. “Do you deserve to be?
Jon was a former Army chaplain, five-foot ten and forty-something, built like a fireplug with short-cropped dark hair, wary eyes, and chestnut skin. Matthew was ex-Army, like Brent. That unspoken bond had helped Brent to accept the medic’s services more than once, although it was a language Travis didn’t share.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that fire at the old cement factory, would you?” Matthew raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe.” Travis didn’t try to prevaricate. Both of the other men knew about the monster hunting and seemed to understand that it was part of Travis’s self-imposed absolution.
“Did it work? And where’s Lawson? He usually needs patching up,” Matthew replied.
“Surprisingly, neither of us took more damage than some scrapes and scratches.” Travis poured a hot chocolate for himself from the urn on a nearby table and took a seat with them. “Although I can’t say the same for the factory.”
He recounted their adventure without any dramatic flourishes, since reality was dangerous enough.
“You were lucky that you didn’t get blowback with the fire and scorch your lungs,” Matthew chided.
“And yes, we could have been incinerated. But we weren’t.”
“This time,” Jon said.
“Hey, it worked. That should mean no more ghosts killing the locals.” Travis didn’t mind their mother-henning, but felt compelled to defend himself.
